


January 2016

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 Challenge: 2016 [1]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Angst, Blood, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Boys Kissing, Dark, Dyslexia, Dyslexic Dean, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Pharaoh!Jared, Pining, Prose Poem, Soulless Sam Winchester, Stanford Era, SunGod!Jensen, Unrequited Love, Verbal Humiliation, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-03 19:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 11,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13347993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 challenge ficlets for the month of January.





	1. One: Demara

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't see the note with the 2018 ones, I'm adjusting the way I'm uploading these. I'll be grouping the ficlets together by month, so instead of having 365 new works to juggle, it'll just be 12. Sorry for all the confusion and reuploading about to take place.
> 
> All the ficlets from 2016. I'm going to backdate them, as well, just for the sake of organization or whatever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. These are very overdue for uploading.
> 
> A Demara thing. Because that was relevant at the time?

First, there was nothing.

There aren’t a whole lot of places to be locked up where His Creation cannot reach. It isn’t so much a where, though, as it is a what- a void, empty of life, of colour, of sound. It’s more like not existing than anything else, and the passage of time is inconsequential in the face of how empty it is.

Then, though- then, there was Dean.

Amara- the name is new, too; she’s always been “Darkness,” always been “Her,” has never needed to be anything more than that- has never before experienced her brother’s Creation. Has scoffed at the idea of something more, of building something where once, nothing stood. It’s always seemed foolish to her when everything- even God Himself- is destined to fall.

But when she’s released- when the lock is removed and she is, once more, free to roam as she pleases- when she first lays her eyes on something of pure Creation- she starts to understand.

Dean has blond hair and cinnamon freckles, a sharp jaw and broad shoulders. He’s strong and he’s delicate and he’s perfect, and he has the entire universe hidden in green, green eyes.

Creation is contained in the being in front of her, and it is beautiful.

It’s then and there that she decides he will be hers. They are connected, and she smiles for the first time, soft and secret.

They will be together for all of eternity. Dean just doesn’t know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Two: Audiobooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean keeps a few cassette tapes that aren't classic rock. Sam doesn't get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I haven't written dyslexic!Dean in ages. But... here's a thing.

The audiobooks are a well-kept secret until Dean picks his brother up from Stanford.

He doesn’t even think about it, really- sees Sam grabbing the shoebox from under the seat out of the corner of his eye, making some kind of quip about his taste in music. Dean just rolls his eyes, glances over towards the passenger seat so he can retort-

-goes still when he identifies the tape Sam’s got in his hands, squinting at the small print.

“Kurt Vonnegut?” Sam laughs, then, looks up with that look on his face that says he thinks this is hilarious, an opportunity to tease his big brother, and Dean feels like he can’t breathe. “What, the classic rock too heavy for you in your old age? Need someone to read stories to you instead?”

“Shut up.” It’s barely a whisper, and Dean’s chest feels tight like there’s a fist wrapped around his lungs, around his heart, squeezing tight until all he can taste is bitter copper. 

“What?” A moment of hesitation, and Sam’s brow knits together. “C’mon, it’s not a big deal. Just never took you for the type to- well, to want to read this kinda stuff.” He turns back to the box, then, sifts through a couple more tapes, and Dean’s knuckles are white with how tight he’s gripping the steering wheel. Sam laughs again a moment later as he unearths one in particular, worn and battered and carefully loved, and Sam’s looking at it like it’s a joke. “Goodnight Moon? Didn’t we used to have this when I was-?”

“Fuck  _off_.” And his voice is full of venom and it comes out harsher than it should, but Dean doesn’t care, can barely see straight, and like  _fuck_ is he going to let himself cry right now. “Just fuck off, Sam. Leave it alone.”

His brother’s completely silent for a few seconds, the air thick between them in the quiet that lingers after Dean’s outburst. Dean’s trembling, breathing hard, trying to focus on anything that isn’t the hurt, the shame that’s burrowing its way into his chest because it’s such a stupid thing to get upset over, and Sam doesn’t know. He doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand that they’re the only way Dean can read most of the time. He doesn’t know, and Dean shouldn’t be this upset, but he’s been on his own so long without having to worry about this that it hits him too hard.

“Alright,” Sam says eventually, sounds uncertainly and a little wary. There’s some more fumbling around before he pushes a tape into the player gently, Metallica coming through the speakers a moment later. Dean cranks up the volume and presses a little harder on the gas and doesn’t look at Sam for the next fifty miles.

He doesn’t know, but that reminder doesn’t make it hurt any less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!


	3. Three: Novelties (one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Sam Winchester. You are eight years old, and today, for the very first time, monsters are real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a little series of "novelties". I had a few of them planned out. Not sure if I actually got around to writing more than the first one.

Your name is Sam Winchester. You are eight years old, and today, for the very first time, monsters are real.

It’s Christmas morning and you’re finally a big kid, finally trusted with the family secret. It’s dizzying, the truth chasing circles around the world as you know it, everything simple and easy and safe turning to ashes at your fingertips, charred beyond recognition with the rest of your childhood’s potential. Your big brother tries to smile, tells you you’re safe, that your dad is a hero, but all you can really think about is that Dean’s a hero, too, keeping you safe from things you didn’t even know existed.

You’re eight years old, and today is the first day of the rest of your life. You’re going to save people, to be just like your dad and your brother, and being trusted with this knowledge is shiny-new and exhilarating. Monsters are real, and you are going to keep people safe from them.

Innocence is a thing of the past, and the  _truth_  is a novelty. You hold it close and let it take root in your chest, feel the way it is shaping the years to come.

There’s a long road ahead of you, and today, you’ve taken your first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Four: Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> people used to call you a _monster_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a secret love for writing in second-person.
> 
> The quote at the end of this is from Game of Thrones, and it's what inspired this... thing. I still really like it, in hindsight. I like being able to get visual with stuff, you know? And it's always fun to bring out the artsy nonsense.
> 
> I'm not sure it qualifies as a "prose poem," but I wasn't sure how else to tag it.

people used to call you a  _monster_.

_(freak. tainted. unclean.)_

there is poison pumping through your veins at sixty beats per minute, claws tearing into your soul and painting it in shades of black and gold. you are angry and hurting and  _alone_  without the family that does not trust you, that would be better off purging your stain of an existence from its line.

your brother is scared of you, scared of the power that thrums in your bones and the hunger that darkens your eyes. he is too soft-clean-pure and you want to ruin it, to drag him down with you until he tastes the sulphur on your lips. he is scared and he loves you so, so much, and it is going to hurt him.

_(pain is something with which you are both intimately familiar.)_

they call you  _monster_  and they condemn the very blood that flows through your body, and your brother wants to protect you, and you want to laugh because he does not understand that they are right.

he is good and he is righteous and you are going to desecrate him.

_(he does not seem to realize this and he does not seem to care.)_

it is not his blood that tastes sharp-dirty-wrong on your lips, and it is not his smile that haunts you when you crave its taste. you will not allow anyone else to have him.

you are a  _monster_  and you will take your brother with you because he has nowhere else to go.

_(given the choice, you know he would refuse to take it.)_

power is sulphur-tainted in the back of your mouth and its corruption has long since taken root in your soul. your eyes bleed black to match and your brother wants to save you.

your lips on his skin are shackles that bind him, and he does not have opportunity to try.

_(he could never go against you. anyone else, but not his precious monster.)_

people used to call you a  _monster_ , but there is a crown of thorns dripping dirty crimson in your hair, and when they kneel before you now your title is  _king._

_(your brother still calls you sammy. you were never a monster in his eyes.)_

* * *

-  _a.m._  ( _never forget what you are. the rest of the world will not. wear it as armour, and it can never be used to hurt you.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Five: Two Deaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say a person dies two deaths- the first when their heart stops beating, and the second the last time their name is spoken out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a concept that makes me sad. It has to be hard living under so many false identities.

They say a person dies two deaths- the first when their heart stops beating, and the second the last time their name is spoken out loud.

Dean’s heart has stopped and started so many times that he’s lost track, but he can’t help but think that when he goes for good, his second death will not be very far behind.

Who will be there to miss him, he wonders? Who will be left to say his name once he is no longer around to offer it up?

His brother doesn’t need him- not anymore. Sam has a life. A girlfriend, an education, the normalcy he’s always dreamed of. He doesn’t need his failure of a big brother barging in and ruining it- probably wouldn’t even realize it if Dean dropped dead, not unless someone hunted him down and let him know.

His father is the only other person who would notice, and Dean can only imagine he would become another Mary. Another reason to be angry at the world, more fuel in his senseless quest for revenge. A ghost that will haunt him until the day he gets himself killed.

Dean knows he could die at any moment. Take a turn too fast on an empty highway, get caught off-guard by something with claws and fangs. No one would know, no one would care. No one would be able to identify his body, not with a dozen fake identities and nothing tying him to the real world.

Sometimes, Dean doesn’t think he’s real.

Sometimes, when he stares death in the face wearing a monster’s skin, when he goes weeks without hearing his own name under fake smiles and fake titles and fake badges, when he’s hit hard with the feeling of isolation- sometimes, he thinks it might be for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	6. Six: Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't keep any pictures of his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sad thing.

Jessica never asks why he doesn’t put up any pictures of his brother.

It’s not like she knows very much about Dean, to begin with. Dean’s his big brother, he’s four years older than Sam, and he’s sometimes a pain in the ass. He’s a shadowy figure in Sam’s past, someone without a face who Jessica only knows in passing.

Sam thinks it’s for the best.

He has pictures of his father. Pictures of the mother he never knew. They watch him from his night table, smiling and happy from before he was even born, maybe. He doesn’t, however, display any pictures of Dean.

It’s easy to explain when people see the pictures of John and Mary. Smiles a little sadly and says that  _“they’re my parents. She died when I was young, and I haven’t spoken to him since I left.”_ It’s sympathy and a friendly squeeze on the shoulder,  _“I’m so sorry”_ and  _“I’m sure he’s still proud of you.”_ It’s easy and it’s familiar, because it’s  _normal._

Sam doesn’t know what he would say if anyone asked about a picture of Dean.

_“He’s my brother”_ and  _“he’s my world”_ and  _“he’s the only one who cared about me”_ get all tangled up, twist into  _“I love him”_ and  _“I miss him”_ and  _“I need him.”_

He isn’t sure how understanding his friends would be if he tried to explain everything Dean was to him (or perhaps, rather, how Dean was  _everything_ to him).

The tiny photo he keeps in his wallet is wrinkled and torn and  _his._ No one needs to know how many freckles are on Dean’s nose except for Sam, and no one needs to know how goddamn beautiful his big brother is.

Dean’s just one more piece of his past he’s chosen to keep to himself, and he has no intention of changing that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	7. Seven: Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam can't remember the colour of Dean's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst, apparently. ???? oh, well.

It’s two in the morning and Sam has class in a few hours, but he’s staring blankly at the ceiling instead of sleeping because he can’t remember the colour of Dean’s eyes.

Green is easy to remember. Green is something he knows like he knows that his name is Sam Winchester and that monsters are real. Dean’s eyes are green, and that should be the end of things, but it isn’t  _enough._

Were they light green, a field in spring? Deeper like moss hugging the roots of a tree? Bottle-green or tornado-dark or algae-forest-emerald-

They changed, maybe, but Sam can’t link shades to moods and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear slips down the side of his face and he remembers soft-clear-bright when Dean was like this.

It’s been one year, seven months, and twelve days since he’s seen his big brother, and things are starting to slip away. Sam doesn’t know how much longer he can take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. Eight: Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean goes to his first dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An age swap :O this is a silly, fluffy thing. With some kissing. And dancing?

The air is cool when Dean steps outside, but he can already see the car waiting for him, glinting black with the moonlight. He pulls his jacket a little tighter around himself and hurries over, ears still ringing from the pounding music inside. Sam’s waiting for him, as promised, and he bundles himself into the passenger seat, settles back in the seat with a contented sigh. “Hi.”

“Hey.” The car’s already starting, and Dean closes his eyes to the purr of the engine. “How was it?”

It’s the first school dance he’s gotten the chance to attend, the first one they didn’t skip town too soon for him to experience for himself. Sam had given him a pretty thorough briefing- he’d been sort of hilariously serious about the whole thing- and made sure he was dressed properly before driving him over. It was loud, it was hot, it was crowded. Fun, but exhausting, and right now, he kind of just wants to take a cold shower and then crawl into bed. “It was good,” is what he cuts it down to, though, because he figures his brother doesn’t need to know all that. “Did’ya miss me?”

He can almost hear Sam rolling his eyes, but he’s smiling when Dean sneaks a peek. “Sure I did, squirt. Why wouldn’t I miss you when being alone means I can actually read in peace for once?”

“Shut up, you love having me around.” Dean reaches over with one foot to nudge Sam’s thigh, conscious of his brother’s driving, and sticks his tongue out. The motel isn’t far, and he can already see it coming up down the road. “What do you even do when I’m not around? ‘Cause I imagine you just sit around being bored and lonely until I get back.”

“Whatever you say.” That earns an actual laugh out of Sam, and Dean grins. Mission accomplished. “Ordered pizza a while ago, so it should show up in a few minutes. You hungry?”

“God, yes.” Dean heaves a dramatic sigh. “They didn’t  _feed_ us, Sammy. All that bouncing around and no food.”

“It’s how they weaken you.” It’s said with a straight face, and Sam nods seriously. “They trap you and then starve you. You’re one of the lucky ones who escaped.”

They pull up to the motel, and Dean snickers, climbs out of the car once they’re stopped. “Sure. Should I be worried about all the other kids who were there?”

“Maybe.” Sam gets out, too, smiles at him over the top of the car. “C’mon, you gotta tell me more. First school dance, yeah? Anything fun happen? Dance with anyone?”

“Not really.” As much as Dean had laughed about the idea that there was a girl’s side and a boy’s side of the room at these events, he hadn’t been disappointed, ending up spending the first while mingling awkwardly with a couple of the friends he’d made. “My friends, I guess.”

“No slow dances?” Sam presses, tilts his head towards the room before he heads that way. Dean follows, eager to get inside and out of the formal wear. “No girls you liked? No guys?”

“Shut up.” He’s blushing a little bit at the question, scuffs his toe on the ground and doesn’t look right at Sam. Isn’t quite ready to admit that none of the other kids at school have caught his eye because he can never stop looking at his big brother enough to bother giving them any attention. “There was only one slow song, and I didn’t want to dance with anyone.”

Sam makes a wounded noise as he unlocks the door, glances back at Dean. “You’re telling me that you had your first school dance, but didn’t dance to any slow songs?” he demands. “Because that’s against the rules, Dean. There are rules.”

“Rules?” He huffs, follows his brother inside and toes his shoes off gratefully. The room’s carpet is far from desirable, but it’s sort of soothing under socked feet, so he lets it slide. “There aren’t rules for dances.”

“There are.” Sam sounds pretty solemn about the whole thing, and when Dean glances up at him again, he’s fiddling with the shitty TV set in the corner. “Lots of rules, probably, but the one that matters most is that you have to have at least one slow dance.”

It all sounds a little suspicious to Dean, but he moves a little closer anyways, frowns as Sam flips through the few channels they’ve got access to. “What’re you doing?”

His answer is an “ah-ha!” from Sam as he settles on some old black and white movie. Sam plays with the volume until it’s audible, and it’s soft, slow music, a couple onscreen looking at each other lovingly, talking in soft voices. Sam straightens up, grins, and Dean makes a half-hearted sound of protest as his brother reaches out and grabs his wrist, tugging him in a little closer. “Giving you your slow dance.”

Sam takes one of his hands and gets the other one on Dean’s waist, and Dean sets one on his brother’s shoulder out of instinct more than anything else. Before he knows it, Sam’s swaying, easy little half-steps as he leads Dean to the tune coming in tinny and soft through the old speakers. He can’t do much but follow along, fingers curling around Sam’s and glancing between his own feet and the collar of Sam’s shirt, wondering if his cheeks are as red as they feel.

“See?” Sam’s smiling, soft and easy, and Dean barely manages to look up. They’re closer than he thought, Sam’s face only a couple inches away from his. “This is nice, right?”

Dean’s distracted by Sam’s eyes and Sam’s lips and how stupidly attractive his big brother is, and he blinks, tries to focus again. “Um- I guess. Kinda.”

Sam snorts softly, shakes his head. “I can feel the enthusiasm, Dean.”

“What am I supposed to say?” He’s blushing and he knows it, but he keeps moving with Sam, lets his brother lead him through the easy steps. “That you’re sweeping me off my feet?”

“That depends.” Dean gets a moment to see Sam’s grin before his grip is shifting and suddenly Dean’s being dipped towards the floor, makes an indignant sound and gets a vice grip in Sam’s shirt. “Am I?”

Dean laughs, despite himself, when he’s pulled back to his feet, clings a little tighter just in case. “You’re a dork.”

“And you love me, anyways.” Sam smiles at him, and he’s close, now, the tips of their noses almost bumping together. “Who else would make sure you followed all the first dance rules?”

Dean’s pretty sure that the first dance rules don’t exist to anyone but Sam, but he keeps that to himself. “No one, probably.”

“Exactly.” Sam’s smile grows, and he does bump his nose against Dean’s, just gently. “So there you go.”

Dean can feel his brother’s breath ghosting over his skin and he doesn’t let himself think too hard when he leans up, tilts his head that tiny bit that makes it too easy to press their lips together, lets his eyes slip shut to enjoy it. Sam’s only tense for a fraction of a second before relaxing again, and Dean can feel a smile against his lips.

“That’s the other rule,” Sam whispers, and Dean’s smiling now, too, can’t quite help himself. “Gotta kiss someone, too.”

If all the rules are this rewarding, then Dean figures he can learn to live them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3!


	9. Nine: War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You knew that the peace would have to end eventually."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small thing for a 'verse I haven't touched in ages ([right here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/335440)). Huh.

“You knew that the peace would have to end eventually.”

Jensen’s voice is soft, but Jared doesn’t want to hear the words. He’s got his eyes closed, lying on his back and smothering himself with childish fantasies, chasing after half-formed dreams where his life is simple, where his country is in a perpetual state of peace and Jensen rules at his side. He may not be a boy any longer, but he knows he’s far from being a man, too. “I didn’t think it would be so soon.”

A gentle fingertips brush over his cheek, and Jared can feel their warmth seeping into his skin. It has him feeling a little safer, if nothing else, and he opens his eyes as he presses into the touch. Jensen’s leaning over him, delicately beautiful and shimmering with the sort of power Jared can only imagine, and he almost looks sad. “You’ve had many years of peace, my little king. Your people are grateful for all you’ve done for them.”

“That won’t mean anything if I can’t protect them now,” he replies, soft and distressed. Remembers the messages sent from the Romans, the threats. The attacks that have already begun at the edges of his land. “I don’t know a way that isn’t peace. How am I supposed to send my people to war?”

Jensen smiles then, just slightly. Brushes his fingers through Jared’s hair. “You may be too young to remember it yourself, Jared, but many of them have already seen it for themselves,” he murmurs. “Enemy invasions. The burning of homes, sacked villages and murdered families. It is far from the first time this land has come under siege.” He leans in close, then, and Jared closes his eyes just as Jensen’s lips brush his forehead, tender. “And it won’t be the last.”

Jared tries to take a deep breath. Reaches out, thoughtless, to curl his fingers around Jensen’s, seeking the warmth and the reassurance. His voice is small when he speaks. “Will you help me?”

“Always.” The promise ghosts over Jared’s skin, and Jensen doesn’t pull away. “I’ll stay by your side until it is your day to be judged, little one.”

“I’m hardly little anymore,” Jared says, but there’s a bit of a smile on his face, his worries soothed for the time being. Dark clouds chased away by the rising sun. 

“You’ll always be little to me.” Jensen smiles, and the kiss lands, this time, on Jared’s lips, light and fleeting. “No matter how much bigger you get.”

Jared might not be a man, yet, and he might not be prepared for the war he has on his hands, but he thinks that with Jensen by his side, he’ll manage just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :>


	10. Ten: Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean isn't allowed to touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, pining. My favourite.

While Sam sleeps, Dean dreams.

It’s dark in the space between their beds, and his brother’s silhouette is only faintly backlit by an occasional car that passes by the motel. Not that Dean needs light to recognize his brother’s profile- the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the faint outline of his arm where he’s got it folded under his head, the blankets where they rest, twisted, around long, graceful legs- it’s all Dean knows, really, what he sees every morning when he wakes up and every night before he falls asleep and every hour, every minute in between.

Sam is asleep, though, and it’s one of those fractional moments, those seconds-between-seconds where he’s allowed to stare, and he’s allowed to ache, and he’s allowed to want.

(He isn’t allowed to touch, not with Sam being such a light sleeper, but he’s dealing with it.)

His imagination is what takes him to tracing the curve of Sam’s nose with his eyes instead of his fingertips, to lingering on his lips for the five seconds he wishes he could use to kiss his brother. Sam’s lips look soft and pink and Dean hasn’t felt them on his skin since Sam was a toddler who like to give him messy little cheek-kisses at every opportunity.

Dean isn’t allowed to touch, and he isn’t allowed to stare-ache-want in the light of day, but if absolutely nothing else, at least he has these moments in between.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks! <3


	11. Eleven: Stanford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for all the emails about posting and reposting and all this nonsense while I get this whole thing sorted out. 
> 
> In any case: have some nice, friendly pre-Stanford angst.

The silence between them is thick, heavy and impenetrable with Sam’s outburst still ringing in his ears. Dean’s chest is tight and breathing has never been this hard before, feels like he’s sucking in air through a straw and he can’t quite look his brother in the eyes.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, and his voice cracks and he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears and Dean doesn’t think he can do this. “Just- just say something. Please.”

His little brother is about to leave him forever but somehow, suddenly, the burden of making it final has landed on Dean’s shoulders.

California could be nice. California is warm, and he’s never seen the ocean before, in all their years of travelling the country, and they could get an apartment together, could live somewhere normal and safe and away from the horrors he knows will never stop hurting innocent people-

“I can’t.”

And that’s all there is to it, in the end, a couple of whispered words that sum up the feeling of his soul being torn in two.

Dean can’t walk away from this life. Not right now, at least. Not even for his little brother.

Not for the shattered look on Sam’s face or the hasty correction that has him looking stony. Has him straightening up and avoiding Dean’s eyes and grabbing his bag on the way to the door, pair of bus tickets crumpled and broken in his hand.

Dean hopes that hunting monsters is worth the sickening guilt in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you! <3


	12. Twelve: Humiliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is different without a soul. Dean can't decide how he feels about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your standard soulless!Sam Wincest situation. Smut. Angst. Reads a little bit like dubcon, but it's not intended that way. Humiliation kink, kind of?

He can hear Sam behind him, humming low with pleasure, hips moving relentlessly as the sound of flesh meeting flesh fills the air. Dean’s nearly suffocating against the mattress but he has neither the ability nor the desire to protest; there’s pleasure mounting low in his belly and he’ll take what he can get. If there’s any benefit to Sam losing his soul, it’s that his brother’s qualms about being too rough seem to have gone out the window with his capacity to feel any range of human emotion.

The other difference is that it’s quieter. Sam breathes little grunts and curses into the back of Dean’s neck when his teeth aren’t busy making themselves at home in his skin, nothing like the brother he’s used to who spends their time together mumbling affections, whispering praise and love whenever Dean’s close enough to hear it. It was jarring, at first, but now it’s almost easier- just another reminder that this isn’t the Sam he knows. 

The knowledge is what makes it all the more surprising when he hears Sam start to speak.

“You love just taking it like this, don’t you?” And Dean thinks Sam’s got absolutely no right to be able to sound so steady when he’s pounding into him so savagely, but he can’t exactly voice his irritation right now. “Love it when I fuck you like this.”

Dean’s in no position to respond, and all it earns him is one of Sam’s hands spread wide between his shoulder blades, forcing him down further against the mattress. His brother’s other hand is bruising-tight on his hip and Dean focuses on how close he’s getting, on letting out the little  _ah-ah-ah_ sounds that he knows will get Sam off faster.

Sam laughs, then, even as he moves a little faster, fingertips digging into tender flesh. “Yeah, you do,” he murmurs, and Dean focuses on his breathing. He’s almost there, and this is almost over. “Just a dirty fuckin’ whore for your little brother’s cock, aren’t you?”

Their sex lives have always been far from vanilla, but it’s the title- the  _dirty whore_ Sam paints onto him that’s got his brain tripping over itself, neurons misfiring and making it hard to hear anything else Sam says that aren’t the insults he whispers like love letters-  _slut, unclean, used, easy,_ and he’s coming by the time Sam starts biting them into his skin, tears in his eyes with the  _desperate_ that slips out among the rest.

Sam leaves him shortly after telling him his only value is to act as his little brother’s come dump, and he closes his eyes before he can see the interested glint in Sam’s eyes. Sam had a near-perfect memory and unending curiosity while he had a soul, and it’s only gotten worse now. 

Dean thinks about being worthless and shivers. He isn’t sure whether or not he wants a repeat performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks! <3


	13. Thirteen: Hopper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy likes catching bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rereading this made me cry because I'm weak. John's journal (like the novel thing) says something about how Sam liked to catch bugs when he was little, and it spawned this... fluff. It's just tooth-rotting fluff.

“De! De, come look’t this one!”

Dean’s elbow-deep in the mud at the bottom of a little trickle of a river, glances up at the sound of his brother’s voice. Looking for pretty rocks can wait a moment. “What kind?”

“Hopper!”

Dean wipes his hands semi-dry on his pants and gets up, knees dirtied and feet bare, heads over to where Sammy’s seated among tall grass and wildflowers. He’s got a few of the flowers woven into his hair- Dean’s work from earlier in the afternoon- and he’s smiling as bright as the sun that’s shining over their heads, has his hands cupped together in a protective little bubble. “Is it a big one?”

Sammy just smiles bigger, waits until Dean’s crouched down in front of him before carefully opening his hands. There’s a grasshopper sitting on one of his palms, antennae twitching as it’s exposed to the world again. “Really big!”

Dean grins, leans in a little closer to inspect the bug. “Does he have a name?”

“Robert.” His brother nods solemnly. “He’s got a job ‘n stuff, an’ a wife named Sarah. And two little hoppers, and their names are Jessie and Pete.”

“’Course.” Dean nods too, like it’s all obvious. “You gonna let him go? I bet he’s gotta go back to his job.”

Sammy’s brow furrows as he seems to consider that, but then he’s nodding again. “Bye-bye, Robert,” he sighs before lowering his hand so the grasshopper can escape. Robert jumps out of his hand and disappears into the grass while Sammy stretches and then flops backwards.

“That’s six today,” Dean tells him, smiles at he watches his brother. “Six grasshoppers, and Robert was the biggest. Maria jumped the highest, though.” He keeps careful track of these things because Sammy likes to know. “You wanna keep goin’?”

Sammy hums softly for a moment, stretches his little arms above his head and makes a pleased little sound. “Nap?”

So Dean crawls to the space beside his brother and lies down, curls himself around the small body beside him and closes his eyes. “Nap,” he agrees softly, nosing into Sammy’s hair.

The sun is warm and the breeze is gentle and Sammy is small and soft in his arms. They’ve got bugs to catch and nowhere to be, and Dean doesn’t think he’s been any happier than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks! <3


	14. Fourteen: King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Sammy isn’t really _his_ little brother, all things considered. He can still feel Dean- the real Dean- in the back of his head, sometimes, struggling to fight his way back into control, but he grows weaker with each passing day, and Dean-the-demon who’s taken his place knows he isn’t going to last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The inspiration for this came from "My Lullaby," from The Lion King 2. Reading it again, I am... super into this concept but also really, really sad about poor Dean. ;-;

Sammy’s always been a deep sleeper, and Dean can’t help the fond little smile he’s wearing as he runs his fingers through his brother’s hair. He’s tiny, seven years old and still soft with the innocence of not knowing what’s hiding out there in the dark. Gentle and safe and entirely unaware of the power pumping thick and hot through his veins.

Dean can feel his eyes flicker black as he imagines the future ahead of them. Imagines Sam ten years older and a few feet taller and ready to take his throne. Imagines absolute power and staying with his little brother forever.

Maybe Sammy isn’t really  _his_ little brother, all things considered. He can still feel Dean- the real Dean- in the back of his head, sometimes, struggling to fight his way back into control, but he grows weaker with each passing day, and Dean-the-demon who’s taken his place knows he isn’t going to last long. 

It’s not like Sammy will ever know the difference, so what does it matter? Besides, he’s become rather fond of being Dean. Watching over the future Boy King is the highest of honours, especially when their relationship will guarantee him a close position in the future. 

(He might, admittedly, also be a little fond of the kid after all this time together.)

Sammy sniffles a little, shifts in his sleep, and Dean hums gently, strokes his thumb over the younger boy’s cheek. “Just sleep, Sammy,” he murmurs. “Lots of time to relax while you’re little like this. Focus on those big dreams of yours.”

His smile softens a little bit as Sammy settles down again, and Dean leans in to press a kiss to his forehead. “One day, when you’re big and strong,” he whispers, shivers as he nearly tastes the demon blood inside the boy, “you will be a  _king._ ”

Until then, as long as he gets to stay with little Sammy, Dean thinks he can stand to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	15. Fifteen: Caught Like A Fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks about all the times in his life when he hasn’t been selfish. When he’s placed others- civilians, his father, his brother- above himself. Thinks about the childhood he didn’t get to have and everything he’s sacrificed to be the good guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A darker one again. The inspiration for this one came from "Caught Like A Fly," a song by Falling In Reverse. The line is _caught like a fly / in a web of your lies_ , and that's... pretty much it, yeah. Wincest-adjacent.

“Was Dad ever even in danger?” Sam demands, and his hands are curled into tight fists as his sides, trembling, and Dean’s mouth feels dry. “Or did you just make that up, too?”

Dean wants to lie. More than anything, he wants to smile and put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and say  _“it’s gonna be okay, Sammy,”_ because it’s always worked before and it’s been so  _easy._ Easy to convince Sam that he needed his help, that there was a hunt he couldn’t do alone, that John was missing, easy to pretend like they were really brothers again. Easy to forget that Sam’s such a smart kid.

“Fuck, Dean,  _look_ at me!” Sam’s voice breaks, and it occurs to Dean that his brother wants to be wrong. He wants to believe Dean, to maintain the illusion of his infallible older brother. It hurts to think about, and Dean doesn’t know if he can speak. “Just- just tell me the truth. Please.”

Dean thinks about all the times in his life when he hasn’t been selfish. When he’s placed others- civilians, his father, his brother- above himself. Thinks about the childhood he didn’t get to have and everything he’s sacrificed to be the good guy.

Thinks about Sam getting what he wants at school with his normal life and his degree and his girlfriend and smiles, soft and distant. Makes a decision.

“’Course I wasn’t lying.” He steps forward, towards his brother, and Sam looks skittish, but doesn’t move. “I needed your help, Sammy. Maybe this hunt was a bust, but I just read the signs wrong. Dad’s still missing, and we still gotta find him.” Reaches one hand out and smiles again, a little more confident. “Now, are you with me? It’ll only take a few days. A week, tops.”

And Sam looks between Dean’s hand and his face and Dean’s tense, hides it behind the smile on his face and the trust in his eyes and it pays off when Sam closes the space, takes Dean’s hand, albeit tentatively.

“Yeah,” he said, swallows hard. “Right. Of course. Just a few days.”

It’s just a matter of getting Sam wrapped back around his finger, and Dean will be able to make it a lifetime.

He looks at his beautiful, brilliant, perfect little brother, and thinks that he deserves to be a little selfish for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. Sixteen: Gadreel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadreel has not been long on this world, but he has always been a quick learner. Today, when he slips into his new vessel- a temporary one at best, he knows- he learns that Sam Winchester is the strongest man who’s ever lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small Sadreel, because... because.

Gadreel has not been long on this world, but he has always been a quick learner. Today, when he slips into his new vessel- a temporary one at best, he knows- he learns that Sam Winchester is the strongest man who’s ever lived.

As with all vessels, he gains the entirety of Sam’s knowledge as soon as he’s fully settled, but unlike others, the sheer volume of experience that he’s hit with is startling. A century longer than the man should’ve yet been alive, and with images of fire and brimstone come a certain understanding of the state of Sam Winchester’s soul.

It’s shredded, tattered and torn like the wolves have been having their way with it his entire life. Even a short stint in Hell is wont to break most human souls, but a century, a  _lifetime_  spent sharing space with two of the most powerful, vengeful creatures in existence- Gadreel is astounded by the fact that it’s stayed intact at all.

Sam Winchester’s soul is battered and bruised, curls in tight on itself in a show of defence before relaxing again, broken edges softened in its unfiltered light. Its glow is gentle, warm the way the sun seeps into bare skin, and it soothes him- makes it easy to forget about his deception, about Dean Winchester’s wrath if his ruse is detected. 

Around him, Sam Winchester lays in pieces, clinging to life by the tips of his fingers, and Gadreel carefully soothes him into a resting state. He certainly needs it with everything he’s been through, and it’s time someone patched the cracks that litter his body.

(It’s almost tragic that he’s been given the task, because he is sure that, were anyone to take the time to look, they would realize that through the cracks, Sam shines brighter than any star in the galaxy or any angel in Heaven.)

Though Sam’s body will be his safe haven until Heaven’s chain of command is reinstated, it will not be a hardship to spend his time repairing such a pure soul. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :>


	17. Seventeen: Night Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t “Night Moves” me,” Sam says, but there’s laughter in his tone that feeds Dean’s grin. “C’mon, as if you did anything better last night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really into this concept where Sam and Dean are together, but also sometimes have things with other people and it's not a big deal because they're everything to each other. :>

“Don’t “Night Moves” me,” Sam says, but there’s laughter in his tone that feeds Dean’s grin. “C’mon, as if you did anything better last night.”

“Well, it sure wasn’t a roll in the metaphorical sheets in the back of my car.” Dean smiles wider, turns to glance at his brother. Reaching one hand across the seat to tangle his fingers with Sam’s is like breathing, “The epitome of class, as always.”

“She wasn’t exactly complaining.” Sam does laugh, then, and it dances with Bob Seger’s voice, mixes up together as Sam squeezes his hand. “C’mon, tell me. Heather?”

“Heather wasn’t there.” Dean’s not all that bothered by the whole thing, loose and easy with his brother warm and smiling in the passenger’s seat. “Leah, though- Leah was.” He shakes his head, laughs to himself. “Oh, boy. Leah.”

“She the one that’s got you sitting like there’s a stick up your ass?” The teasing tone is obvious, and Dean knows that Sam knows that he’s been the cause of just exactly this situation more than once. “Or did you slip and fall on your way there?”

“What can I say? I like a girl who knows how to take control.” Remembers one Rhonda Hurley and shakes his head fondly. “Maybe she was overeager, but hey, it wasn’t all bad.”

“Never is with you.” There’s a creak of leather as Sam leans across the seat, and there’s a soft press of lips against Dean’s cheek that has him smiling all over again. “Can’t all be winners.”

“Have yet to find a real loser, though,” Dean hums. “Guess I’m just lucky like that. ‘Sides, no harm in some practice on the side.” He drums his fingers along the steering wheel as the chorus starts up again, squeezes Sam’s hand and flashes his brother a grin before starting to sing along. “Workin’ on my night moves!”

It’s got Sam laughing, and they stumble through the whole song together, one eye on the road and their hands never parting. Dean’s chest is light, and Sam hasn’t looked this relaxed in months, and maybe for now, it’s easier to focus on this than any of the shit going down God knows where else in the world.

With his brother at his side, Dean’s confident that he doesn’t need anything else to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks! <3


	18. Eighteen: Peanut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Sammy goes into anaphylactic shock, Dean is terrified because he thinks his baby brother is going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Winchesters. Sam's got a nasty allergy. I live for Dean being protective of his little brother.

The first time Sammy goes into anaphylactic shock, Dean is terrified because he thinks his baby brother is going to die. 

It’s just a peanut butter sandwich, a quick snack for them both before they get back into the car again, but Sammy chokes on his second bite and Dean loses his appetite when he gets his eyes on his brother. Sammy’s lips and tongue are puffing up and he can’t breathe and he’s starting to cry and Dean’s never moved so fast in his life.

Their dad seems just as scared as Dean is, but they get Sammy to the hospital in time and the doctors are able to save him. They learn that Sammy is allergic to peanuts and that if he eats them, his body will fight against it and hurt him and do everything it can to kill him.

Dean is six years old and decides then and there that he is never going to let that happen.

When they go out to buy Sam an EpiPen, Dean’s the one who insists on two extras.  _Just in case,_ he says, and he must be convincing because John doesn’t try to say no. Dean carries two of them on him and Sammy’s got a little holster for the third (he’s too little to carry it any other way), and Dean makes sure that all three of them know how to use them.

Once that’s out of the way, though, his attention turns to food.

Not a waiter or waitress escapes without Dean grilling them about their food. “D’you have peanuts here?” is always the first question out of his mouth, sitting up straight and staring at them imploringly. “Do the chicken nuggets have peanuts? Sammy’s  _allergic._ ”

Most of them indulge him, smile and coo at how cute he is that he’s so worried about his little brother. Most places are happy to assure him that their peanut products, if any, are tightly controlled. The ones who can’t guarantee it get a view of his back as he scoops Sammy up and toddles right out the door, to the sound of their dad apologizing sheepishly behind them.

“He’s allergic,” Dean will explain later while Sammy giggles and John rolls his eyes.

Taking care of Sammy has always been Dean’s job, as long as he can remember, and maybe monsters and demons are too big for him right now, but this much- watching what Sammy eats and making sure he’s always got his brother’s medicine on-hand- this, he can control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	19. Nineteen: Shallow and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Sam hates the colour of his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Shallow" and "blue" were the words that brought me to this. Wincesty. Teenchesters, maybe?

Sometimes, Sam hates the colour of his eyes.

The worst part is that he doesn’t even know what colour to call them. They can never settle between hazel-green and blue-grey and a whole mess of a rainbow in between, and he hates it.

All anyone ever talks about are pretty blue eyes  _(all Sam ever thinks about are emerald-green)_ and he knows he’ll never catch someone’s attention without them. His eyes are confusing and they’re ugly and he hates them.

But then, sometimes, Dean makes him hate them a little less.

Sometimes his big brother will catch him unawares, will pin him to the wall or the bed or the couch or whatever other surface is handy, and he will lean in close and whisper sweet nothings in Sam’s ear. He will tell Sam that he is beautiful, that he is perfect, and that he loves him.

Sometimes, Dean will talk about the colour of his eyes.

“So goddamn pretty, Sammy,” he’ll say, pillow-plush lips brushing along Sam’s cheekbones, and Sam can never quite stay as quiet or as still as he wants. “Feel like they’re gonna swallow me up when you’re mad. All stormy an’ shit. And  _god,_ they’re fuckin’ beautiful when you cry. Bluer, y’know. Softer.”

Sam wants to tell Dean that he doesn’t cry anymore, that he’s too old for that now- too mature- but he never really has the heart to speak up while Dean’s lips are moving against his skin.

“But my favourite,” Dean will whisper, and his voice is low and soft and gentle, tender with affection, “s’when you say you love me.” The tip of his nose drags down the line of Sam’s jaw, and Sam shivers, tilts his head back. “They’re greener, then. Lighter than mine, though. Kinda golden in the middle. Fuckin’ beautiful, Sammy.”

That’s when Sam’s lips are captured by his brother’s, and he lets his eyes slip shut, stops worrying about them as Dean presses him more firmly against the wall.

Maybe they’re not so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	20. Twenty: Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Age-swap with a much bigger age gap than canon. Dean's tiny, and Sam's... idk. A teenager? Who knows. Nonsense cuddling, in any case.

The snow is three feet deep outside, and there’s a warm little weight on Sam’s chest that ensures he won’t be getting out of bed anytime soon.

Dean’s snuffling softly against his neck, and Sam knows his brother’s going to wake up soon. He’s burrowed himself in Sam’s shirt-  _“it’s warmest here, Sammy,”_ he’d said in all seriousness- and his tiny fingers are curling gently against Sam’s skin. It’s quiet and peaceful, and Sam figures this moment could last forever.

He can tell Dean’s woken up when his weight shifts around a little, the tips of Dean’s toes just brushing the hem of Sam’s pants while Dean stretches. There’s another soft snuffle, and then a tiny kiss is pressed to the bottom of his chin, and Sam smiles to himself.

“Comfy,” Dean mumbles as he curls up close again. His breath is ticklish where is ghosts over Sam’s skin, and Sam wraps an arm loosely around his brother. “S’it still snowin’?”

“Yeah.” Sam speaks softly, ducks his head to press a kiss into Dean’s hair. “Real cold out today.”

That earns him a little huff, and Dean just curls up tighter. The shirt’s all stretched out already, and Sam’s more than happy to let Dean stay right where he is. “Don’t wanna move.”

“Then we won’t.” Breakfast can wait. Sam pulls the blankets a little tighter around them both, and lets his hand settle on Dean’s back, spread out wide to hold him close. “We can just stay here, kiddo.”

Dean mumbles something less than coherent before falling quiet again, and Sam closes his eyes once more, smiling softly.

The snow doesn’t bother him at all if this is where he ends up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	21. Twenty-One: Waxing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Sam had to name one thing about his brother that he absolutely can’t stand, it has to be how Dean doesn’t seem to know how or when to knock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when Sam's answering machine was Dean saying that Sam couldn't come to the phone because he was busy "waxing like... everything"? Yeah. 
> 
> Teenchesters. Very, very loosely Wincest-adjacent because Dean can't resist making some flirty comments and. WELL.

If Sam had to name one thing about his brother that he absolutely can’t stand, it has to be how Dean doesn’t seem to know how or when to knock.

His trips to the bathroom always seem to be, by some matter of coincidence and serendipity, perfectly lined up with the times Dean sees fit to barge in looking for his toothbrush or his razor or, on one occasion, his pants (”I didn’t just  _lose_  them, Sammy, they’ve gotta be here somewhere!”), and Sam has since tried and failed to accept it as a normal part of his life and be constantly prepared for one such interruption. Locks are impractical when they could mean life or death with a monster stuck in the room, and he knows they aren’t a realistic option without Dean flipping out and actually taking the door off its hinges. It’s a hard life, but one that, he tries to convince himself, he should get used to.

Unfortunately for Sam, Dean just has a way of picking the worst possible times to barge in on him.

Sam is sixteen years old and experimenting with what his brother refers to, colloquially, as “manscaping.” It sounds silly, and he still rolls his eyes when he thinks about it, but he’s nicked himself on a razor enough times to be willing to try something a little different, and it’s not  _that_ hard to sneak the little waxing kit past his brother, and maybe this time, he’ll get some actual peace and quiet while he’s in the bathroom.

He’s perched on the edge of the bathtub, stripped down to his boxers, one leg stretched out in front of him with his foot braced against the sink. It’s a precarious position, one that has him sticking his tongue out as he concentrates on his balance, but it’s the best he’s been able to come up with as he carefully applies the wax to his leg, trying to cover every last hair. If he’s going to do this, then by god, he’s going to get it right, and no amount of discomfort or the sound of doors opening will deter him-

He’s only just processed the sound of Dean humming his way into the motel room when the bathroom door is casually thrown open. “Hope you’ve got your pants on, kiddo, ‘cause you gotta come see this-″

Sam panics and fumbles and  _shrieks_ as he loses his balance, drops the little tub of wax and flails around a little before he slips off the edge of the tub and lands hard on his ass. He barely hears Dean’s answering scream, and only manages to blink up at his brother, dazed, a moment later.

Dean’s quiet for a grand total of four seconds as his eyes flick around the room- Sam’s face, Sam’s waxed-up leg, the tub on the floor.

The smirk grows before he completely loses it and breaks down into a fit of laughter, doubling over. “Oh, my God,  _Samantha-”_

“Oh my God, Dean, shut up!” Sam groans, his cheeks flushing warm as he tries to shove the door closed with one outstretched leg. All he manages is knocking Dean off his feet, and his brother just keeps laughing on the floor. “Lots of guys wax, it’s- leave me alone, asshole! _”_

He manages to shove Dean all the way out with the door as leverage, and is treated to the sound of Dean’s laugh being slightly muffled by the thin wooden door between them. Sam groans and lets the back of his head smack lightly against the tiled floor, dragging a hand down his face.

“I think you’d look cute waxed all over!” he hears through the door, Dean’s voice still breathless, and Sam’s face reddens a little more. “Be real soft, right?”

Maybe with a little more incentive, he could live with leaving the door unlocked a little longer.  _Maybe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!


	22. Twenty-Two: Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The colour red is, in Dean’s opinion, the most beautiful of them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weecest. Blood kink...?

The colour red is, in Dean’s opinion, the most beautiful of them all.

Maybe he’s gotten a little twisted after a lifetime of horror, but there’s something about a deep scarlet soaking into its canvas that always draws his eyes, mesmerizes him. Clothing or hair or human skin stained red, feathering out into impossible patterns that have him aching to taste.

Sam’s lips are saccharine pink, rolled between teeth and teased with a hint of tongue. They’re everything that Dean wants, but it’s not until they’re split and bloodied crimson that he can’t help himself, pins his little brother to a wall and licks the tang of pennies out of his mouth. Sam whines but lets him, doesn’t stop Dean from sucking his bleeding lower lip into his mouth and lapping up the taste for himself.

“Hurts, De,” he whispers, but his fingers are tight in Dean’s shirt and Dean doesn’t move.

“Then tell me to stop.”

Sam doesn’t say another word, and so Dean kisses his lips swollen, red to match the flush of his cheeks.

Sammy has always been pretty in red, and Dean has a feeling that this is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Twenty-Three: Vanishing, Cold, Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester is not scared of the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanishing, cold, and mist were the inspiring words for this. Brothers. Hunt thing. Sam is cold and Dean holds his hands.

Sam Winchester is not scared of the dark.

He hasn’t been since he was a little boy and his big brother told him that he would always keep him safe. Dean has always been there to protect him from the dark, and it no longer hides anything he doesn’t know how to handle.

This basement isn’t dark, but then, that isn’t what has Sam’s skin crawling as he tries to find his way out.

It must be some kind of cold storage, because Sam can’t feel the tips of his fingers and his breath puffs out in white clouds every time he exhales. He has found one door through the thick mist so far, but it’s built of old metal and didn’t budge, just left him with bloodied hands that tremble from cold or pain or both.

Breathing in feels like icicles creeping into his chest, but he’s had worse. He’s sure he’s had worse. “Dean?” he tries, and his mouth feels dry, lips cracking. Remembers losing his brother here in the first place while they chased down a restless spirit and hopes and prays that it’s temporary. “Dean!”

His only response comes in the form of the words fading into the thick air around him, and he swallows hard. Shivers.

Ends up following a shadow deeper into the fog, virtually blind and increasingly desperate. Needs to find his brother and get out, hates the way he can’t see the walls but they still feel like they’re closing in on him.

Doesn’t see his brother until rough fingers wrap around his bicep, too hot and pulling him to a stop, have him trying to jerk away on instinct.

“Sam! Hey, it’s just me,” and it’s unmistakably Dean’s voice, low and soft, and Sam stops struggling. Feels the heat seeping into his skin. “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

Sam doesn’t hold himself back from turning into his brother’s arms, burrows close and tucks his face into Dean’s neck. “Did you get it?” he whispers, cold lips on warm skin. Feels Dean’s arms come up around him and feels himself starting to thaw out a little. “The ghost?”

“Yeah, s’all gone, kiddo,” Dean murmurs, already starting to lead him out. “Tryin’ to freeze us out or something. Let’s go get you warmed up, okay?”

Sam clings to his brother as feeling returns to his fingertips, can’t help but wonder about the shadow in the fog. Wonders if he’d imagined it, or if it was just another trick of his possibly frost-bitten brain.

He decides it doesn’t matter and lets himself focus on Dean’s hands wrapping around his, rubbing feeling and warmth back into his body. It’s certainly the more pleasant alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Twenty-Four: Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean turns five years old, he almost forgets it’s his birthday at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A soft and sad thing.

When Dean turns five years old, he almost forgets it’s his birthday at all. It’s been two months since his house burned to the ground, and the day feels like any other- waking up curled tight around his baby brother, blinking some of the sleepiness out of his eyes. The room is still unfamiliar, a friend-of-a-friend of their dad, and he doesn’t feel safe here. A tiny part of him is still waiting for his momma to come home, even though he’s been told, over and over again, that it’s never going to happen.

“You awake, kiddo?” His dad’s opening the door, though, and he looks tired, but there’s a tiny smile on his face as he steps inside. Dean squints and sees a little cupcake in his hand, a lit candle stuck in the middle as he crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bed. “D’you know what day it is?”

Dean wracks his brain but comes up short, biting his lip and glancing down at Sammy like it’ll give him the answer. “Um… Tuesday?”

“Well, yeah.” His dad looks almost sad for a moment before shaking his head. “It’s January 24th, Dean. You’re five years old.”

It feels hollow, like getting a little older doesn’t mean much in the face of everything they’ve lost, but Dean smiles all the same. Hugs Sammy a little tighter. “Really?”

“Yeah.” The cupcake is set on the side table, and when his dad reaches out to stroke his hair out of his eyes, Dean is suddenly, painfully reminded of his mother, and he bites back the tears that try to well up in his eyes. “Make a wish, buddy.”

Dean swallows hard and turns towards the candle. Thinks about baby Sammy in his arms and the smell of fire. Closes his eyes tight before blowing out the candle in one quick breath.

_I wish that Momma didn’t get hurt,_ is what he thinks, chest tight.  _I wish the fire didn’t happen._

_I wish we could be happy again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	25. Twenty-Five: Sacred

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For everything Dean Winchester fails to see in himself, Castiel becomes fractionally more determined to show him how important he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Destiel? Destiel-adjacent?? Idk. The word was "sacred" and this is what happened.

For everything Dean Winchester fails to see in himself, Castiel becomes fractionally more determined to show him how important he is.

Dean has an astounding lack of self-confidence for one with such an arrogant air about him, and it is, if nothing else, fascinating to watch- the dips and curves in his emotions as he puts on a show for anyone watching. Entertain as it might, it saddens him to watch such a pure soul go to such lengths to disguise his true nature, to hide the softness inside. A defence mechanism Castiel is determined to dismantle, whatever effort it may require.

“Do you know how important you are, Dean?” he asks one evening, watching with a tilt of his head as the hunter readies himself for sleep. It’s enough to make Dean pause, glance over and grumble something meaningless before going back to whatever task with which he has busied himself.

”Yeah, yeah, Righteous Man,” he mutters. He doesn’t sound interested, and Castiel frowns. What man wouldn’t want to hear about his own importance? “I know.”

“You matter more than the worth of that title.” Castiel takes another step closer, trying to remember what Dean has told him about personal space in the past. Does it matter right now, during such an important conversation? “You matter for the purity of your soul and the goodness in your heart. You are a good man, Dean, and I don’t understand why you fail to see it yourself.”

Dean goes still for a few seconds, and when he glances towards Castiel again, there’s a flush high in his cheeks. Castiel’s brow knits together as he considers its presence, wonders if he’s done something to embarrass Dean or if, perhaps, the room is too warm for him. “Would you like me to open a window?”

“What?” Dean blinks, then, shakes his head sharply. “I don’t- never mind, Cas. I think I’m gonna hit the hay, so… you can head out whenever, I guess.”

Castiel refrains from suggesting that he stay here. He has come to learn that Dean doesn’t take kindly to people watching him sleep. He’ll have to spend the night somewhere outside the establishment to watch over his charge. “Goodnight, Dean.”

It may be a work in progress to make Dean understand how sacred he is- to his brother, to Castiel, to the world- but his stubbornness has never failed him before. He just hopes it will serve him well now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Twenty-Six: Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For now, though, coffee. Coffee is his goal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wincest. Domestic. Djinnverse? Who knows.

Dean’s shivering by the time he makes it to the coffee maker, feeling some sense of regret in not pulling on more than his brother’s pyjama pants on his way to the kitchen. The tiled floor feels icy under his bare feet, and his toes curl against it, trying to maintain some warmth.

Once he’s got the coffee brewing, he goes hunting for a couple mugs, hugging himself and mumbling about fixing the thermostat because January sucks. It’s been snowing on and off for days, and Dean’s preferred position is curled up on the couch with as many blankets as he can find and his brother curled around him. 

For now, though, coffee. Coffee is his goal.

As it turns out, Sam has a penchant for putting away Dean’s favourite mugs in the highest shelves of their cabinet, and he grumbles to himself as he stretches up on his tiptoes, forced out of his protective huddle to reach for the cups. They are, amazingly, just past where his fingertips brush the shelf- why they’ve invested in such tall shelving is beyond him- and he briefly considers climbing the counter for them.

The gentle slide of a familiar hand along the curve of his waist is sufficient distraction from that train of thought, and he comes down off his tip-toes to let Sam pull him in close. His brother is sleep-warm and gentle, arms wrapping around Dean’s middle and holding him tight. Dean’s more than happy to press back into it, sighs with relief at the reprieve from the cold air.

“Mornin’,” Sam mumbles into his neck, and Dean feels the gentle press of dry lips against his skin, comfortable and familiar. “Why’re you up?”

“Coffee.” Dean squints up in the direction of the mugs he’d been grabbing for. “Why’d you put all my stuff up high?”

“So you can’t reach it.” He can feel the smile pressed into his skin before Sam’s stretching up, plucks the pair of mugs off the shelf with an ease that makes Dean huff just as the coffee maker finishes. 

“Bitch,” Dean murmurs, but tilts his head to the side when his brother noses at the line of his jaw. “Hiding my coffee.”

“Jerk.” Sam gives him a gentle squeeze and then kisses him on the cheek. “Just keeping you on your toes.”

Dean rolls his eyes and Sam laughs at him and they have their coffee together, Dean’s black and Sam’s with too much milk and sugar while they curl up on the couch with a few blankets and as much physical contact as they can manage.

Things are almost too easy, and Dean closes his eyes against the flickers of the real world. He deserves this, and Sam deserves to be happy.

(He can’t quite decide whether he’s more worried about the Sam whose legs are tangled in his or the Sam who will finally be free of him for good.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Twenty-Seven: Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam Winchester has seen what feels like the entirety of the continental US.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stanford angst with undertones of Wincest. :>

Sam Winchester has seen what feels like the entirety of the continental US. He’s been to almost every state, experienced monuments and cheesy landmarks and natural wonders. He’s seen rivers and mountains and deserts, snowstorms and sunshine and everything in between.

It’s not until he leaves his family to attend Stanford University, though, that he sees the ocean. 

It isn’t much of an event. A few of his friends load up in the back of Brady’s van and they hit the road for a weekend off after their finals, laughing and nudging each other and probably drinking too much on the way down. He sees it first, an endless dip of blue on the horizon, and catches a whiff of salt water as they get closer.

The sand is nothing new, but there’s something about the Pacific Ocean that makes every body of water he’s ever seen seem entirely insignificant. It’s massive and entirely infinite; looking out onto the water’s surface, he can’t imagine ever reaching a point at which it ends. He feels tiny, and when the water finally washes up over his bare toes, icy cold next to the hot sand underfoot, he thinks.

Dean has always wanted to see the ocean.

There’s a ghost of a hand on his shoulder, calloused fingers and an excited laugh, green eyes that are too old for the childlike wonder that makes them sparkle. Sam closes his eyes and imagines, for a moment, that there’s a hint of leather and gunpowder under the heavy tang of salt and brine.

Someone calls him to play volleyball and Sam forces a smile onto his face, Dean’s image dissipating into the wind. Maybe it’s easier to pretend like Dean shouldn’t be here. Like he doesn’t belong at Sam’s side, sharing this experience and holding his hand.

Sam’s never been very good at lying to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	28. Twenty-Eight: Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dean, have you seen my socks?” is always how it starts, and Dean can never quite stop himself from rolling his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something weird and soft. I think it came from "Just My Imagination" because Sam went to bed with socks on and then woke up with... no socks. Mysterious.

“Dean, have you seen my socks?” is always how it starts, and Dean can never quite stop himself from rolling his eyes.

His brother is a creature of habit, and for some reason, Sam has gotten himself into the habit of wearing socks to bed. Dean can’t fathom why; he’s never found it comfortable, and he can’t imagine that Sam, who runs like a human space-heater most of the time, would have it any better. Whatever the justification might be, though, Sam always keeps his socks in when he goes to sleep, and he always- without fail- wakes up the next morning without them on.

Dean had figured it out pretty early. Unconscious Sam apparently has more sense than his waking counterpart and takes the liberty of removing his socks at some point during any given sleeping period. Sam doesn’t seem to have really caught on yet, which is why they’re still having this conversation in their thirties.

“No, Sam, I haven’t seen your socks.” He rolls his eyes and he’s already headed towards his brother’s voice, where he can hear Sam rustling around in his bedroom. “Are you out of socks?”

“Would I be asking about socks if I had socks?” Dean steps into Sam’s room just in time to be on the receiving end of a bitch face from his brother, and he smirks. “Did you do the laundry recently?”

“Yeah, but there weren’t any of your stinky socks, Sam.”

Sam grumbles something incoherent and starts rooting through his closet. “Then how do you explain the fact that I have no socks, Dean?”

Dean wanders over to Sam’s bed where the covers are bunched up at the foot, half-listens while Sam continues to speak. “I swear, every time I buy more, they just keep going missing. You sure you’re not stealing them and hiding them or something to mess with me?”

“Pretty sure.” Dean picks up the sheets carefully, tugs them off of Sam’s bed and starts shaking them out. “You need to look harder.”

Sam pauses in whatever he’s searching through and glances over. “What?”

Dean just grins at him and gives the sheets one last good shake. A pile of individual socks sits at his feet, and he tosses the sheets back onto Sam’s bed. “You gotta stop wearing these to bed, man. You never keep ‘em on.”

Sam blinks, then looks a little sheepish. “Um- oh. Right.”

Dean rolls his eyes fondly and starts scooping up the socks one by one to throw at Sam. “Time for laundry, huh?”

So it’s a habit that Sam probably won’t break, but that doesn’t mean Dean can’t tease him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Twenty-Nine: Performer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Dean Winchester is good at one thing, it’s acting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this was "performer." Just a drabble-y thing about Dean.

If Dean Winchester is good at one thing, it’s acting.

Well, maybe that’s not fair to say. He’s good at his job. He can hit a bullseye at sixty yards and knows exactly which ribs to slip a knife between to get to a monster’s heart. He knows how to kill just about everything under the sun, and he’s even earned his dad’s enthusiastic approval on occasion with his skills.

But above all else, his job consists of acting.

He exists under a hundred fake names, and the only legitimate documentation he owns is his original birth certificate school records. He goes out into the world and puts a smile on his face and  _pretends,_ plays like he’s just the same as everybody else out there. Like he doesn’t go to bed with a gun under his pillow and salt lining every door and window. 

Normality is nothing but a part he plays, and though he’ll never admit it out loud, Dean likes to think that it’s one he knows pretty well. 

He makes friends. He goes to school. He flirts with girls and teases his brother, watches TV and reads and smiles and laughs like a real person, like someone who belongs in the realm of history papers and study dates. Like someone who’s got nothing better to do on the weekend than spend time with his friends or go out with someone special.

It aches sometimes, somewhere deep and untouched, that it’s all a lie. Sometimes he wishes, honest-to-God wishes that he could be that person- that he could normal. That he could be  _real._

It’s easier to pretend it was never a possibility in the first place. Besides, what good actor doesn’t know where their role ends and their reality begins?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	30. Thirty: Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to Dean one day on an empty stretch of highway on the outskirts of Santa Fe that he doesn’t actually have any friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Lonely" was the prompt and this whole thing makes me sad. Stanford Era. Dean... musey-thing.

It occurs to Dean one day on an empty stretch of highway on the outskirts of Santa Fe that he doesn’t actually have any friends.

He has family. He has, through his father, allies. He has contacts and he has informants, a network of people who make his job a little bit easier. He has his car and his gun and the empty space in the passenger’s seat.

But he doesn’t have  _friends._

Sam’s always been the one to put down roots, no matter how many times they’re torn from the ground. As much as Dean likes to put on a show for his peers, he’s too reserved, a fear of rejection deep-seated the way the smell of burning meat leaves his chest too tight to breathe and tears in his eyes. He doesn’t know how to let people in, not after a lifetime of shutting them out.

Dean used to have a best friend. Used to have his little brother to fill that empty space in his chest until Sam was torn away from him, pursuing dreams that Dean knows he can never be a part of. 

Dean realizes, on that sticky-hot tarmac with the sun beating down overhead and the desert around him, that he is lonely.

He tightens his jaw and turns up his music and stares straight ahead.

It’s never mattered before, and he tells the hollow feeling in his chest that it shouldn’t matter now.

It’s not like it’ll bother anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks!


	31. Thirty-One: Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black ash smeared on white porcelain, a charred hairbrush. It has him feeling ill, and he nearly walks away before a tiny white stick catches his eye and his stomach drops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a headcanon floating around in fandom that the reason Mary and Jessica had blood on their stomachs when they burned on the ceiling was because they were pregnant... I think about that a lot.
> 
> Sam finds out.

Sam doesn’t know what leads him to the bathroom while he picks through the ruins of his apartment. There’s almost nothing salvageable left after a demon burned his life to the ground, but something tugs him in that direction and he’s too shell-shocked in its aftermath to try to stop it.

Black ash smeared on white porcelain, a charred hairbrush. It has him feeling ill, and he nearly walks away before a tiny white stick catches his eye and his stomach drops.

He crouches down slowly to pick it out from the debris. It tapers thin at one end and Sam feels like he can’t breathe, wipes soot off its display with numb, shaking fingers.

The tiny plus sign breaks him, and the pregnancy test clatters to the floor, a choked, inhuman noise clawing its way up out of Sam’s throat.

He thinks about the bloodstains on Jessica’s nightgown that could’ve been his child, and he presses his forehead against the floor and screams himself hoarse _._

_It should’ve been me._

His life has never been fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
